A Husband for Hermione
by Kilmeny
Summary: One day shortly before graduation, Hermione casually mentions being married one day, causing Ron to realize he has some thinking to do. Mix together one daydream, a couple of rows, and a little making up, and you get a fuzzy RHr fic. Enjoy!


A Husband for Hermione

By Kilmeny

It was unusual to see Hermione so relaxed. For this reason Ron congratulated himself on having convinced her to come outside on this beautiful spring day to this most relaxing spot. One shady tree provided her a place to sit and lean against, and the lush grass provided him a great place to lie next to her.

She had been chattering incessantly since he had brought her out here about S.P.E.W. and her post-graduation pursuits and the number of N.E.W.T.s they might have received. Ron found himself dazedly watching her more than listening to her. After N.E.W.T.s his brain felt fried. Fortunately, he had learned that an occasional "mm-hmm" or a nod kept her satisfied with his attentiveness.

"I'm looking forward to having a flat to make my own. Of course I'll have lots of books," she said.

"Mm-hmm." Ron rolled onto his back and contemplated the shapes of the clouds overhead.

"I've always hoped that when I'm married, my husband and I will be able to afford a large library in our house."

The "mm-hmm" in Ron's throat came out more as an "mm-_what_?" Its pitch rose as his body shot up into a sitting position, his expression disbelieving.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "What is it, Ron?"

"Why are you talking about _marriage_?"

"Well, it is a state I hope to enter into sometime after graduation."

Ron clutched the grass next to his thigh. Why must she say it so matter-of-factly? "With _who_?"

She looked at him as though he were mental. "Obviously I don't know yet. You of all people should know just how single I am at the moment. You're with me more than anyone and have probably prevented any prospects from coming closer."

Ron stared at her. "Since when have you been thinking about marriage? I thought you were only focused on your career and _spew_." Truth be told, Ron himself had never imagined Hermione as a married woman. He'd never even imagined Harry, Hermione, and him as separated after graduation. Now that he thought about it, he realized how daft his assumptions had been. Did he think that the three of them were going to move into a flat together?

Hermione seemed to read these thoughts as she looked at him, her head tilted thoughtfully. "My career _is_ the focus, but I don't want to always be single. I want someone to share my life with."

A heaviness settled in his chest. He didn't know what was so disturbing about this, but he burst out, "That's what _I'm_ here for—and Harry. You won't be alone. You'll have us." For the first time, the thought that she might not always be so readily available entered his mind. The three of them must have their own lives. And one day someone else would take his place at her side. How could he have been so stupid to not consider the inevitable changes adulthood would bring in their relationships?

She had an intense look upon her face, her eyes fixed upon his hurt expression. Then she worried her lip with her teeth and looked glumly down at the grass she was fingering. "Surely you want to get married and have a family someday too. And don't forget that Harry will be away at Auror training."

"Of course I want my own family someday, but I'm not so ready as you seem to be to chuck my friends for it."

She sighed. "Ron, don't be angry. You know that's not how I meant it. I'm just keeping it in mind. In a way, I'm preparing for the separation that will most likely come."

"More like anticipating it," he grumbled, hanging his head.

She gave him a sharp look. "Don't be stupid."

But feeling hurt for some reason, he blundered on. "You probably have someone in mind already."

"I told you I didn't know, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you!" She started to stand up.

Ron's head shot up. "I think you _do _have someone in mind. Who is he?"

She was standing, looking down at him imperiously. "I cannot believe you. Why don't you talk to me after you've taken time to actually _think_ about your future and what could affect our friendship? I won't let you take out your frustrations on me." With that, she gave him one last scathing glance and strode away.

He flopped backward in defeat, his momentary anger replaced by the return of that heavy feeling in his chest. The thought of Hermione married left him cold, especially if she already had someone in mind. He figured that she wasn't really anticipating any kind of separation from him, but it hurt to think that a separation was inevitable. She couldn't be his forever. Some other much stronger and smarter bloke would come along and snatch her away from him.

He liked things as they were. He looked out for her and took care of her in what ways he could, and she looked after him in her motherly, know-it-all way. They did nearly everything together. If she wanted to share her life with someone, couldn't she see that that's what they were already doing? He'd never thought about marriage much because he was satisfied with what he already had. Perhaps Hermione was unsatisfied . . . unsatisfied with him.

A sinking feeling came over him as he watched the clouds gather into an ominous mass. What did this "husband" she had in mind have that he didn't have? He ran his hands through his hair and thought hard. When he let himself analyze his feelings for Hermione, he knew that they were more than those of a friend's should be. To be honest and simple, he loved her. He had merely chosen not to think about it too much. What was the point? They couldn't go anywhere farther than his dreams. Why torture himself? Hadn't this recent argument illustrated that fact all too well? Hermione wasn't interested in staying with him.

He felt the first drops of rain on his cheek. For some reason, he thought if would feel good to lay back again on the grass and soak up the water, so he did.

Forced to close his eyes against the rain, which was steadily increasing, he allowed his mind to picture Hermione's wedding day, the definitive end to their friendship as it was now. She would be breathtaking he knew. Hermione's tanned skin always looked good against white. And it would feel softer even than the satin of her gown. He knew this because she had gripped his hand on several occasions, overcome by various bits of shocking or scary news they had heard over the past few years. Her hair would be swept up, curls teasing him to touch them. And she would keep on flashing nervous and excited smiles, none less dazzling than the previous ones.

What kind of a man would she be walking toward? Some smarmy bloke like Lockhart? His stomach churned. Or a great intellectual to match her? Or a rich Ministry official? It was totally unimaginable.

Now from what kind of angle would he see it all as she walks up the aisle? Wherever it was he must have a direct view of her face. Maybe she would look at him and smile for just a moment. No, of course her eyes would only be on her fiancé. His stomach churned again. The rain was falling pretty hard now.

And the things that would happen on the wedding night! Now this was the part of marriage he had put some thought into. At the idea of Hermione getting into bed with this "husband," he couldn't help but groan. He knew how the male mind worked, and his prim and proper Hermione shouldn't be placed in the hands of just any man. It would be impossible to just stand aside at the wedding ceremony and allow her to be delivered into someone else's hands.

Yes, it must be him who would stand center stage and watch her walk that aisle. _He_ would utter the vows of everlasting love and commitment. _He_ would slide the ring onto her finger. _He_ would unveil her beautiful face and kiss her softly. And only he would lay her gently on their bed and slowly undress her and show her how much he loved her.

Ron knew that he couldn't let her go without a fight. He didn't care who she had in mind; he wasn't going to stand aside. He would make sure she would never be alone and always be taken care of. Before this he had always banished thoughts of being with Hermione because he didn't want to damage their friendship by expressing his feelings or even allowing himself to fully acknowledge those feelings. But if he was one day going to lose her anyway, then it couldn't hurt to try to win her.

Upon reflection, he wondered what kind of chance he actually had. He could think of no indication from her that she harbored deeper feelings for him, nor could he conjure a reason she would fancy him over anyone else. If anything, she argued more with him than anyone. And at times it felt like she was trying to give him a cold shoulder, yet for no apparent reason. He couldn't count how many times he had been utterly confused as to what he'd done to upset her. Like just recently—granted he had said some stupid things he didn't really mean, but why should she be so angered at his concern, a legitimate concern over things being different between them than he had expected in the years to come? Why was her fuse shorter with him than with anyone else?

Because he was an idiot. He spoke without thinking first, especially around her. But no more. For once he was going to learn his lesson. He would go to her now and apologize—yes, it was a novel idea, but he would apologize. Then in the future he wouldn't make the same mistake and thus feel compelled to apologize again. So yes, he would do that, and then he would say something about how he didn't blame her for wanting to be married.

Though he was soaked to the bone, Ron felt surprisingly refreshed. In this new frame of mind, he clambered to his feet and walked back to the castle. Instead of going back to the dormitory, he decided to check the library first, since that was the place he had coaxed Hermione out of to begin with.

The library was nearly empty due to an end-of-year decrease in homework, and so he passed few people before finding her at her usual table, sandwiched between a large window and the Arithmancy section. Whatever relaxation she had exhibited earlier was now banished and replaced by her usual busyness. She was writing fervently on a long piece of parchment, although Ron wondered what its purpose could be since she had completed her homework for the remainder of the year. With her hair hanging in her face, she had not yet noticed him approaching.

He felt queasy again. He hated to interrupt her; he hardly knew how. Was she still mad? If the way she was jabbing her quill into her inkpot was any indication, she probably was. He cleared his throat—best to get things rolling and get it over with. He'd figure out exactly what to say as he went.

Her quill paused and she looked up, her bland expression lighting up with surprise and concern at the sight of him. "Ron!"

"Hi, Hermione."

She was out of her chair and standing before him, staring oddly at the shirt clinging to his body. "You're soaking wet!"

"Yeah, that's what happens when you lay outside in the rain." He looked down at the top of her curly hair. That's how close she was to him, as she was now hovering her wand over him to perform a drying spell. He could smell her shampoo. The queasiness in his stomach momentarily lifted in a delightful sensation but then returned twice as strong.

"Why didn't you come inside when it started raining?" she asked, rolling her eyes as she circled around him to dry his back.

"I guess I had some thinking to do." He cleared his throat again.

There was a hitch in her breathing and her wand stilled. "Oh . . . yes."

He whirled around to face her. "Hermione, I—"

But she was already headed back to her table. Before he could think of what more to say, she had returned with a towel in hand, having transfigured it using a sock she had knitted for an unsuspecting house-elf. She looked up at him for a moment and said resignedly, "Forget it. Let's just forget we ever had that conversation."

She reached her arms toward his head, and to his surprise, he found himself leaning down slightly to allow her to dry his hair for him. When had things like this become so natural for her to do? She now appeared to think it normal, but it still made him feel things—sometimes delightful and sometimes scary—that he didn't know how to deal with. Hopefully, this conversation would be a start.

Making a decision, he took her wrists and lowered her arms, effectively stopping her towel-attack on his wet hair.

Her eyes flew to his determined gaze, surprised. She opened her mouth as though to say something, but he cut her off.

"I can't forget it, and besides, we can't keep ignoring these arguments of ours."

She closed her mouth, a cue for him to continue.

He self-consciously released her wrists and, aware of the intensity between them, took a small step back. "I wanted to apologize for what I said. I didn't mean to be so harsh or to accuse you of anything. You just . . . surprised me, that's all, talking about marriage and stuff. I mean, it's only normal that you should think about it, and now that I've thought about it, I can relate to, you know, not wanting to be alone."

"Oh," she said, her eyes wide.

Ron ran a hand awkwardly through his hair. "Alright then."

"I mean, _thank you_. And, actually, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been so touchy." She looked down at the towel she was fingering nervously.

"That's okay." He felt like he should say something more or _do_ something, but he didn't know what. He couldn't just blurt out that he hoped it was him she would marry someday. "Don't be too quick to think that you'll be alone."

Again, her eyes met his.

"I'll always be there. I plan on staying near you for as long as you'll let me, actually."

At this unusual statement and the note of passion in the way he said it, a very strange expression passed over her face. She paused for a moment, but Ron didn't choose to fill the silence with any words. Instead, he stood still, thinking miserably that he had said something far too revealing of his true feelings. But another part of him rose up in defiance—so what if he had said too much? Couldn't he do anything brave? The now-or-never day would come eventually, so why not now?

"As a friend," she said softly, but she didn't look at him when she said this.

Ron frowned. "What do you mean? What's wrong?" And swallowing, he tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him again.

"Nothing," she said, followed by a humorless laugh.

"That is not a look that says nothing. There is still something unresolved here."

She crossed her arms and walked over to the window. "And it will probably never be resolved because you'll never say it."

He came and stood beside her, mimicking her sightless stare out the window. His heart was pounding. "Say what?"

She spun to face him, hands clenched at her sides. "You _know_ what I'm talking about. We've been skirting around it for years! If there's something you want to say, just say it. You can tell me _anything_, Ron, and I won't mind. I just can't stand you keeping this from me for so long. It needs to be said."

"Is this what we've really been fighting about all these years? This is all _my _fault? It sounds more like _you're_ the one who has something that needs to be said."

She released a breath she'd been holding, but he went on before she could retaliate. "So go ahead and say it and stop taking it out on me. I'm tired of you acting like I'm stupid or heartless—"

"I don't act that way!"

"You do." Oh no, this was even worse than their row after the Yule Ball. They were practically shouting in each others' faces in the _library_. He was surprised Madam Pince hadn't pounced on them yet. And worst of all, he realized that she already knew about his feelings. "I'm sorry if my feelings make you uncomfortable. I know I don't fit what you have in mind, but that doesn't mean you can just treat me

like—"

"Ron, that's not it at all!" There were tears glimmering in her eyes. "I didn't realize that I was such a terrible friend . . . to make you feel that way." She crossed her arms over her chest as though she were cold.

Ron found himself reaching forward to put a hand on her upper arm. When he saw her attempt to restrain a sob, he couldn't help but pull her toward him and wrap his arms around her shaking shoulders. "Damn it, I always make you cry. I'm sorry. I didn't come up here to fight again. You're not a terrible friend."

"But I _have_ taken it out on you." She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest, quickly causing those familiar sensations of delight to run throughout his body. "I've just wanted you to say something for so long. And I thought you should say it first."

It sounded almost as if she . . . Ron pulled away so that he could see her face. Then he took a deep breath and said slowly, "Alright then . . . Hermione, I have feelings for you that . . . well, are more than the friend variety." He swallowed. "You're the only girl I've ever really wanted to be with."

One side of her mouth lifted in a smile. She tossed her hair back and replied, "I like you too, Ron . . . and I want to be with you too." Her eyes were twinkling, the tears still glimmering on her lashes.

"You do?" he said, surprised. "But I thought—" She was still smiling; it was real. "But why me?"

She stroked the Prefect badge on his chest with her fingertips. "You suit my supposed ideal more than you know." And, punctuating each compliment with a tap to his badge, she said, "You're very brave—and loyal—and smart—and sweet—and funny."

"So if I hadn't been a Prefect, things would be different?" he asked, looking down at his Prefect's badge and smiling wryly.

She laughed. "No, Ron, this badge is merely evidence to your character. But so often, you seem totally unaware of how great a person you are."

He felt completely dumbfounded. That beautiful smile on her face was truly meant for him. But why had he never suspected that she had feelings for him? She hid them very well. He'd had no idea that she thought so highly of him. Her smile was contagious, and the happiness bubbling inside him made him feel like laughing.

She bounced forward on her tiptoes and slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him. There should be no more awkwardness; he placed his hands on her waist and turned his face to her neck and smelled her like he was always wanting to do. And she didn't cringe away; she laughed.

"Well, if you're going to do that," she said, pulling back slightly, "I get to do this." And she reached her hand up and played with his damp spiky hair.

His hands tightened on her waist, and before he had thought it through clearly, he kissed her right on the mouth. She let out a small squeak of surprise, but almost instantly, her hands went to the hair on the nape of his neck, and his own went gently right below her ears. And she was meeting his tentative yet determined kiss with an innocent determination of her own.

When they pulled away a little while later, their eyes met, hers shy and his awed. As they walked to dinner, Ron realized with relief that it wasn't necessary now to inform her that she must marry him. That time would come. And, what with these recent events, he probably would only need to ask her. But to be on the safe side, he would ask her before anyone else even thought about it.


End file.
